The Demon Fleet of Grand Line
The captain looked up from the charts laid across his desk. The sailor stood waiting, anxious and visibly worn, like a stray piece of twine wrapped around a sharpened screw. "What news out of Brightport, man?" The captain set his compass and pencil down gave his attention in full to the sailor. His were an honest lot. None terribly smart, but loyal and strong of arm and quick of foot. "What happened, Haque?" "Strange news, Captain," Haque said. The sailor twisted his cap in his hand, wringing like a sodden rag. Sweat beaded on his bronze neck. "The report on the settlement was finished up double time, no troubles there, the survey will be more than satisfied. Good crew came with me, Captain. Each did right by you." The Captain nodded, satisfied. He reached for his compass, then thought better of it. Simple though they were, his was not a crew to spook easy or turn to fear without cause. "What more do you have to say?" The Capatin watched the sailor put down the writ scroll one his desk before pulling back his hand as fast as a cliffviper. "Come, man. Spit it out." "Strange and dark rumour in the port bars, Captain." Haque stammered, his eyes fading, looking through the Capatin and the wall beyond. "Stranger stories. A ghost fleet making way through the region." "A fleet? Under whose flags?" "Their own, Captain. They fly different colours emblazoned with a thin skull and bow set in front of a strange symbol; something between a cross and a question, they say. The fleet's been moving west along the rim, following the Black Ivy Line, same as us Captain!" "Tell me what they say, Haque." "They say it's a single flagship at first, an empty ship devoid of crew. Not so big, but a handsome scooter all the same flying powder blue and white sails." The captain stiffened. "Is it a royal fleet?" Haque shook his head. "The Blues may be bastards and devils at the worst of times, but they're still men under the King's coin and thumb. This is a devil ship, Captain." "Go on, man." "It starts with this small cutter, see? Sailing empty or else with a single soul at helm. But whenever it's confronted, it's as if its shadow was hiding its brothers. One ship reveals another and another. All the same save flying different sails. Different irons. They move with one mind. No mercy and no quarter." The sailor shivered and continued. "Three hunters have tried to take this mirage fleet. Each have sunk, leaving only precious few castaways lucky enough to catch stray balloons or find their coward's wings early enough before the ships engage in full. They all say the same: each of the fleet is captained by the same figure in different dress. Each ship is manned by a crew of boiling black oil and bone. Each ship floats and carves through sky like a pack of blood-painted butterflies." "That's quite the rumour." "Over a dozen ships, sir. Three hunters, seven honest merchantmen and four independent privateers to boot all say the same. Two could be a story. Over a dozen, Capatin? That's honest truth, that is." The captain looked down at his charts and sighed. "Orders, Captain?" The sailor leaned forward, relieved that the burden of information no longer rested on his shoulders. "Hold anchor and keep a sharp eye. Have every hand cast an eye to the sky on all sides. I'll find a path to get is where we're headed. No sense dancing with devils if we don't have to just yet." "Aye, sir! " Haque's breath ran out of him in a heavy gust, his relief palpable in the Captain's musty quarters. "I'll inform the crew, Captain." Category:Stories